


one size too small

by colectiva



Category: Platinum (Visual Novel)
Genre: (but it's not very good i'm afraid), (not cumplay though) just it's gotta go somewhere?, Body Worship, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/M, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, and mentions of cum, ass worship, some spanking - pretty light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:21:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29067960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colectiva/pseuds/colectiva
Summary: How did she even get it over the rise of her ass…She reminds him of that reggaeton song, the one he would blast on Saturday mornings when he was forced to clean. The one where the lyrics are so obscene his mother yelled at him to turn it off.He gets it now...what the rapper was going on about.He gets it when he’s around Camila
Relationships: Raleigh Carrera/Main Character (Platinum), Raleigh Carrera/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 15





	one size too small

**Author's Note:**

> lol y'all about to look at me _real_ different.  
> for platinumweekend - look what do you want me to do? I hear the booty-centric reggaeton songs, i dream up scenarios for one r&b heartthrob.  
> Inspired by… a whole playlist of butt songs.  
> (alsothankyoutoajforbeingpartofthisjourneywithoutheriprobablywouldnthavebotheredfinishingthis)

**“What do you think? Too much?”**

Her voice cuts through a haze of sun-induced exhaustion and… _boredom_.

Raleigh’s lying on his back, sprawled out on their hotel bed, and his attention captivated by his phone’s screen. The movement of his thumb as he scrolls and scrolls becomes a mindless reflex.

He thinks he’s finally found something to remedy this, fingers flying over the keyboard, and drafts a troll-tweet to a flat-earther that’s popped up on his feed-- keen to dive in and orchestrate his own entertainment.

“Hmm?” Camila hums, echoing a more persistent call to her previous question.

Raleigh turns his head to answer her, where she stands in front of the mirrored closet.

The phone nearly slips out of his grip.

Almost shatters the screen on his forehead had it not been for his last-minute fumbling.

He must look ridiculous with his jaw slacked, head twisted at an odd angle, and eyes wide open.

What’s the saying? _Stupid thick_? 

Well, that should explain the expression on his face.

 _Stupid_.

The bikini is white, with little palm trees printed on the snug fabric. Cut high at the legs, above her generous hips, sitting at the natural dip of her waistline.

Raleigh doesn’t think it’s meant to reveal as much as it is, the material struggling to cover the supple roundness of her ass. It’s not like it’s the most revealing thing she’s worn -- _oh ho ho, definitely not_ \-- but the way it’s dipping, biting, _sinking_ into her flesh (probably already leaving behind a mark from the tight pinch of it) makes him think it’s not fulfilling its purpose.

There’s something about the… _proportionality_ of it that makes his mouth go dry. 

“Too _little_ ,” he’s surprised he manages a response.

His gaze lingers. Slowly, openly, passing down the length of her body without a shred of shame. Eyes running down and around the contours and curves, the rimples and dimples, the sun’s obvious claim from their last week on the beach. 

A visible line that tells him she’s spent too long lying on her stomach poolside. 

“I think I got it one size too small,” she frowns at herself in the mirror, twisting her torso to check how the bottoms are sitting on her rear. “They only sold the tops and bottoms together-- _I knew this would happen_.”

Camila huffs and mutters to herself. Her fingers tuck into the waistband and Raleigh swallows-- the _snap_ it makes only emphasises how unyielding its squeeze is. 

_How did she even get it over the rise of her ass…_

She reminds him of that reggaeton song, the one he would blast on Saturday mornings when he was forced to clean. The one where the lyrics are so obscene his mother yelled at him to turn it off. 

He gets it now...what the rapper was going on about. 

He gets it when he’s around Camila and he’s left reeling with an embarrassingly intense craving. One he’s left grappling with, trying to piece his sanity back together-- one that leaves him dumbfounded.

A need that renders him so dazed, where the rightly-timed roll of her hips in the middle of a busy and noisy club makes him slowly lose his mind. When she grinds against the front of his jeans, syncing her movements with the smooth dembow’s beat, and all he can do is helplessly grip onto her hips.

 _To harvest 14-carat asses_ , that’s what the song said.

If he’s ever been in the presence of a _24-carat ass_ , it would be Camila’s -- without a doubt. 

An article last year by some sleazy rag called it “the ass that could launch a thousand ships” and he only laughed because she was so thoroughly tickled by it.

She said through a second wave of giggles: _“Maybe J.Lo will wanna collab with me.”_

The confidence. The way she shrugged it off, crawled onto his lap, bottom lip between her teeth and-- _god, she’s sexy and she knows it_. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

She locks eyes with him through the mirror, a smile playing on her face. Camila shakes her head and tuts playfully. 

Raleigh grins, rising to the challenge -- adrenaline prickling through him as he swipes to open the camera app, snapping a quick picture of Camila. Her hands at her hips, tilting her head at her reflection, and the curve of her backside highlighted by the sun trickling through the sliding doors. 

Frowning, Camila cranes her head at the loud digital camera sound effect. 

“Really?” She laughs incredulously.

It’s not even remotely close to the most salacious image of her on his phone, that’s for certain. No, he keeps those on reserve in an encrypted folder he dips into while on a long gruelling tour. 

_This_ one though, he can feel the stretch of the smirk on his sun-beaten face, Raleigh might have plans for this snapshot. 

_Wow_.

Flipping his phone screen towards her, he blows out an exaggerated breath.

“ _Uuuf_!” it’s a strenuous sound, deep from his chest, as if he’s just finished lugging a heavy suitcase. “ _Mamasota_ \-- please, babe, just take a look at that.”

Camila rolls her eyes, not even taking a second glance at the picture he snapped. 

“So, what do you think? I should probably just wear yesterday’s swimsuit, right?”

She might as well be talking to the wall with Raleigh far too distracted by the snapshot he’s slotting into his favourite folder. 

Another once-over at her reflection and she sighs defeated. Camila makes to wiggle out of the too-small bikini bottoms, but not before he springs up from the bed to stop her. 

“Whoa, _whoa_ , hold up.”

Camila finds his hungry gaze through the mirror as he saunters up behind her and quirks a quizzical brow. 

“It’s too small,” she counters irritably.

“Oh, _I know_ ,” and the hard column of his body lines up with the soft, supple skin he’s been eyeing, _devouring_ , from afar. 

If he could let out a sigh of relief without her mocking him, he would, but he’d never hear the end of it.

Large, calloused hands travel down her shoulders and over her arms. She’s still warm from the shower, _so soft_ , and she smells divine. Coconut sunscreen and the shea butter moisturiser she diligently applies every morning.

Fingers drift down her sides, she giggles and squirms -- _a poorly strangled noise surfaces from the back of his throat_ \-- against him.

The strain at the front of his board shorts gets little to no relief at the faintest friction when he presses her closer. 

“Seriously, Raleigh?” she rolls her eyes, but the smile on her face -- the appleing of her cheeks -- gives her away. 

“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” Camila drops her voice to a low, sultry drawl, eyes hooding as he pulls a mass of curls away from her neck and drops a chaste kiss. 

Her eyelashes flutter, fighting the urge to shut, resisting the sensation that makes her breathing shallow. 

The next kiss is wet, open-mouthed, and hungry with teeth nipping impishly-- _a reminder._

A sense of satisfaction courses through him when she lets out a tiny moan, straight to the warm pooling arousal in his lower belly.

Camila’s face screws shut in a sudden surge of pleasure, nails biting into a heavily tattooed arm.

 _There we go_.

Raleigh smirks, and maybe she can feel it on her skin, or maybe she just knows him by now-- but she arches her back, brushing her ass along the rigid bulge of his swimming trunks. 

His forehead meets the junction of her shoulder and neck, letting out an embarrassingly deep groan. 

For a second Raleigh forgot he’s been dating someone who also knows how to play dirty. 

It cracks something in him, splits him apart, and calls on the foggy-minded craving he always gets around her. 

His hands stop their gentle caresses along her waist. Instead, tugs her by the hips, fingers sinking into the flesh there, and brings her flush to him. 

“Be careful,” his tongue slides over the shell of her ear, her body erupting in goosebumps, and a subtle shiver runs through her. “Don’t forget who you’re playing games with,” his fingers dip into the elastic of her bottoms-- _and fuck it’s so tight--_ the fabric practically clamping around his thumb. 

A spike of want, of energy, flows through his veins. He _knows_ what he wants. He thinks he’s known since he first caught sight of her in _this_. 

Raleigh grabs her wrists, coaxing her forward. “You know the drill, baby,” and places them against the mirror, just below her shoulders. 

Without being told, Camila leans towards her reflection, arching her back-- ass rising slightly and he doesn’t know how he doesn’t lose it right there and then. Gently, he tilts her hips up higher, nearly on her tiptoes.

He catches her eyes one last time through the mirror and smiles, the one he reserves to infuriate her-- to drive home the fact that he’s still very much aware of the effect he has on her.

Camila can’t react, swallowing down a moan at the anticipation. 

Raleigh pulls away, drinking her in. It’s obscene. The positioning, the suggestiveness of her round backside perked up at him, fingers smudging the glass already, and a slight tremor running up her right leg.

A flat palm skims the expanse of her back, starting between her shoulder blades, following the little shudder down the arch of her spine, the dimples at her lower back, and smoothing it over the contour of her rear.

And he grasps at the mound of flesh there.

He doesn’t know whose moan is louder. He’s certain his was, just from the painful twitch of his hardness. 

His left hand repeats the same motion, eyes flickering up to catch Camila’s head drop-- chin meeting collarbone in another whimper.

“Shhh... _so impatient_ ,” his smirk dictates the smug drip to his tone.

Lips follow the trail his hands indulged in, stopping at the side of her hip, where his tongue follows the three distinct lines along her skin. 

Lines Raleigh spends time paying tribute to, revering them with slow kisses-- knowing they gave way to the most coveted part of Camila.

Sinking to his knees on the plush carpet, Raleigh settles back on his heels, and he exhales-- the sound similar to the one he made earlier when he took that _glorious_ photo.

He licks his lips. 

_Fuck_.

From this angle, leveled with his slow wandering gaze, he can take in just how _perfect_ her ass is.

_He’d write another song about it if she’d let him._

Here he can revel in the fact that out of every idiot in this industry she could have chosen to fall in love with, to touch her, to listen to her beg when she can’t take anymore-- she chose him.

Then he touches her -- runs a fingertip along the line drawn by the sun -- and Camila shudders. Raleigh’s attention sweeps away briefly from a similar path he’s been busy following on the opposite cheek. He watches her lean into her reflection, forehead falling onto the cool glass. 

“Raleigh, _please_.” 

Annoyed. His girlfriend is _annoyed_ with him, and all he can do is grin-- slowing the speed of his finger by half. 

When he ventures too close to her inner thighs, near the undercurve of her backside and leg, where his _second most favourite part of her_ is hidden behind tight fabric, he pulls away entirely. 

She lets out a frustrated huff mingled with a pant. “Why does everything have to be a game with you?”

This makes him laugh. A genuine, bark-like laughter that _almost_ makes him forget his task. 

Raleigh bends forward, a breath away from her flesh. “Remember to ask me that when I make this pussy come,” and he brushes a thumb, over nylon, from her entrance to her clit.

The response (he thinks she says _obnoxious_?) hitches as a shaky moan fogs the glass.

Raleigh cups a soft mound, measuring up his large hand against it, kneading and brushing his thumb over the tight-fitting inseam of her bikini. Camila juts her hips back into his touch and offers another sputtered plea.

He massages her, listening to her desperate noises, feeling the weight of her in his hold.

Leaning forward, he places light kisses from the top of her hip, over the bikini, to the back of her thigh. He repeats it for both sides, using the tip of his nose and the stubble on his chin to tickle her, and chuckles at the shiver he stirs from deep within her.

He takes his time with every brush of his lips, until he’s leaving swift, open mouthed kisses-- following the path of his hands. 

Raleigh runs the hot flat of his tongue up the curve of her ass and grins victoriously at the loud gasp from the change in sensation. She writhes, pressing back into him, asking for more without having to use her words.

His teeth nip, drag across the skin, and then quickly soothes the spots with the warmth of his tongue. He sucks at the skin, relishing in the indecent _popping_ sound it makes when he pulls away.

“ _Fuck_ , that’s so good,” she groans, wiggling her hips in his face and it makes him achingly hard.

His mouth finds each cheek again and again, sucking and biting-- certain at least one dark hickey will bloom in its place.

And the fact that she’s not asking him to stop-- to be careful and not leave any marks -- only spurs on his hunger. 

He wants her. He wants her badly. And it’s evident from the feverish kisses he starts landing. 

Camila chokes out a _yes_ when his thumb traces the outline of her heat, adding further pressure the more frenzied his attention grows.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he growls in between messy, hungry kisses against a cheek. Nose bumping, breathing slightly erratic and loud as he struggles to seize a gulp of air. 

Maybe he’s had it with his own games; he thinks when he has to drag himself away from the intoxicating feel of her. 

“Come here,” his voice is thick with need. Roughly grabbing her hips, stilling them in place, he parts the bikini to the side. 

She’s slick, wet, ready for him-- _and, fuck, he loves being right_.

“I thought you didn’t like my games,” he brushes a knuckle through her wet folds, grinning wide and proud when Camila yelps in surprise. 

“God, you are so-- _oh shit!”_

Raleigh sinks a long, lone finger into her-- slow, a knuckle at a time, before he draws it out completely and she whimpers at the loss.

He brings his knuckle into his mouth, swirls his tongue over the wetness. His cock can only take so much-- yes, even he hates his games at times.

For his own sake, he doesn’t leave her waiting. Raleigh hastily covers her inviting arousal with his mouth.

The moan she emits is an octave too high for her dignity, but just right for his ego.

His tongue parts her, swirling around her entrance-- _she tastes sharp, and so ready to be fucked_. He gropes at the mounds of flesh pressing into his face, surges forward and laps eagerly-- hungry mouth descending on her with renewed vigour. 

_Raleigh wants his jaw to hurt_.

Camila’s getting louder, writhing the further into her he presses, opening her legs just a touch wider, and he just barely manages to flick his tongue at her clit from the angle he’s working her. The slightest touch awakens something in her-- she rips a page out of his own book.

She reaches behind her, one lone hand stabilising her against the glass, and clutches a fistful of his dark hair...pressing him closer, deeper, into her.

And it makes him harder, if at all feasible-- impossible to grow any bigger within the constraints of his trunks. 

His breathing shallows, twisting and turning his face while flush against her _perfect_ cunt. _Yes, definitely_ _his second favourite part of her_. 

_Fuck it_.

He reaches in his shorts and moans at the immediate relief. Hard, warm, and weeping into his hand. He strokes himself, tries to time it with the stiff darting of his tongue-- thoroughly fucking her entrance.

She begs for more. Not with that mouthful of mumbled incoherent phrases. But by bucking her hips into his mouth. Her grip turns unforgiving, tugging so hard his scalp stings and a pleasurable bite of pain jolts straight through him. Enough for him to grunt low and tighten his fist around his cock.

Camila _knows_ the more vulgar the noises she makes, the more he loves her for it. The keening moans, the sliding door rattling on its hinges, the sound it makes when he sucks at her entrance ( _that lewd, wet, sucking noise_ ) before lapping up her mess. 

To believe she once used to bite back these loud, deep, grunts, where his name sounds perfected from that voice of gold. When her hand used to fly up to cover her pretty mouth as she came crashing down around him.

Now, he’s craving to hear it. 

He dislodges himself, stands up to his full height, and kicks off his shorts. Raleigh sweeps a consuming gaze over her dishevelled state, meeting his eyes through the smudged glass.

He blames Hollywood for this thrilling sense of vanity, for being far too turned on by this-- at the prospect of Camila watching herself be fucked by him. 

Raleigh realigns her by the waist once more, feeling the smooth stretch of her skin from her waist over the firmness of her ass-- and his palm connects with the fullest part of her right cheek.

Breaking eye contact, she yelps. But it dies in her throat, and quickly turns into a croaked: _yes_ , _fuck!_

Her fingers on the mirror are slipping at the anticipation-- _will he…?_

And he does. 

He lands another and the sound is all too gratifying when it spurs on her noisy moans.

“Whose ass is this?”

“Yours, Raleigh, all yours,” she pants, words melding together in a rush of breath-- somehow Raleigh’s appeased he’s not the only one losing his mind. “All yours, always yours.”

Her back arches, she cries out-- he sinks his middle finger into her tight heat and rewards her by giving her exactly what she wants.

There’s a reason she favours this position. All the angles, the bundle of nerves he manages to hit just right with his fingers-- longer, thicker than hers-- it’s _ecstasy_.

His hand is upturned, driving into her, and allows the heel of his palm to repeatedly meet with her backside.

Raleigh sees how close she is, her trembling inner thighs coated with her heady need giving her away. Her face presses to the glass, her moans breaking mid-sound-- changing her tune with every deep _oh_ and turning into high-pitched _ah, yes, right-- oh, oh, oh_.

He’s had to stop touching himself, there’s no way in hell he would last if he kept that up-- and he’s not done with her just yet.

Raleigh withdraws his hand only long enough to line himself up with her, and nearly combusts when he starts to push into her. 

He might die, right here, in their hotel room, on... some Caribbean island-- he should have paid more attention to the name when Camila booked the trip. 

A loud, gruff, moan tumbles out of him. He curses, one hand splaying in between her shoulder blades, bending her over a little more to accommodate him, the other gripping her right hip. He’s torturing himself, the pace he’s set, slipping into her inch by agonising inch.

Tight. So, _tight,_ and wet and invitingly warm. 

But she retaliates, squeezing her walls around him, another chorus of exhausted swearwords and whines escaping her.

Raleigh thrusts forward. The clattering of the mirrored closet is back, their reflection undulating as he pulls back and slams into her without warning.

Both hands find a home on a respective full cheek and he sets a relentless pace. Her fingers dive in the space between her legs and work her clit in needy circles.

“That’s it, baby, that’s it,” he can’t help but grin, biting his lower lip to suppress a pathetic moan. “Throw it back for me-- _fuckfuckfuck, you’re so hot when you do that_.”

He leans back, stilling, lets her take control -- lets her fuck him -- and watches her take him into her heat over and over. She throws her hips back, riding out her orgasm in hasty and uneven thrusts, allowing the obscene clap of round flesh to meet his hips again and again. 

_And he is not going to last much longer with this view_. 

The fire in her quells, swivelling her hips at the feel of him still buried deep inside her most sensitive parts. 

If Raleigh had an inkling before he wasn’t going to be able to draw this out any longer, he never stood a chance when Camila locks eyes with him in the reflection-- hair a mess, lips swollen from biting down so hard, hoarse voice demanding: “Cum on me.”

It takes hold of him -- an undercurrent ready to sweep him away -- gasping, and cursing, and his face screwed tight while tossing his head back. His movements turn sloppy and fingers curl into the snug bikini.

Before it hits him, before the chill makes its way down his spine, settles and renders him boneless-- he pulls out, spilling messily over the lovely slopes and contours of her ass. 

His mouth falls open, pumping into his hand the last of the overpowering swell of pleasure crashing into him. 

Without a second to catch his breath, Raleigh wheels her around by the shoulder and sweeps her into a heated kiss. 

“ _Goddamn_ , I love you,” he barely manages a chuckle against her mouth, shocked at how winded he feels.

He leans on her, burying his face in her neck, panting. 

She laughs derisively, holding on to him, following the outline of a tattoo at his shoulder with a nail then her lips. 

“I _wonder_ why that is.”

Raleigh leads them back onto the bed, where he can flop on his back unceremoniously and _probably_ die from how happy he is. He coaxes her to join him, but Camila disentangles herself and mutters that she needs to take a shower _again_.

“Now I really can’t return these,” she smacks his arm with as much energy as she can muster -- which pleases him that it’s not much. 

Finally, she wiggles out of the clutch of the one-size-too-small bikini bottoms-- mopping up his mess. 

“ _I_ thought it was worth the investment,” he calls after her, large obnoxious grin on his face as she shuts the door to the bathroom. 

**Author's Note:**

> my Raleigh Carrera has always and will always be an ass man.  
> Also, I am never writing Raleigh again. Why? This artist has no respect for me as a writer. Never showed up on time to work and when he would I would be too busy to deal with them.  
> And _do you know how hard this was for me to write_? I am _still_ trying to think of varying ways to say ASS.......and i call myself a writer.


End file.
